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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754733">Twitter Warm-Up Prompts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana'>Abyssiniana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age II, InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, Overwatch (Video Game), Teen Wolf (TV), The Dragon Prince (Cartoon), Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allura is Isabella, Dragon Age AU, F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, Keith is Fenris, Lance is Varric LOL, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sheith, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Break Up, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Pre-SEP, SHEITH - Freeform, Shiro is Hawke, Soldier Enhancement Program, Twitter Threads, age reversal au, breaking Adashi, fenhawke - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:42:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of daily ficlets posted as threads on my Twitter @_abyssiniana. The idea is to write one or two mini-fics every day, based on what my friends and followers suggest, as a warm-up before working on my bigger projects!</p><p>Feel free to suggest your prompts in the comments, or on my Twitter!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prompt 1: Sheith taking a walk in the beach and finding a cool seashell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alien beaches had their charm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe the sand being purple and the water slimy and mint green in colour was a little throw-offish, but it didn’t stop Shiro and Keith from removing their boots, rolling up their pants and walking by the shore, soaking in the heat of the two small suns.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their feet sunk into the sand that was kind of bouncy, fighting back to their weight, their fingers intertwined even as they sort of lost balance over one another. Keith’s laughter, it was magical, an exotic taste as they kissed and rolled about the deserted beach. Shiro nuzzled on his husband’s cheek, open palm on the sand holding him up above Keith. Among the tiny particles, he grabbed something, something small, something... broken. He held it up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We used to play this game, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ojisan</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I, to try and guess what broken seashells looked like. As if to give them a new purpose, since they lost their other half.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s sweet,” Keith tilted his head, squinting as if trying to make out what that shape could be, examining it from different angles, “Kinda looks like the Marmora symbol.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shiro tossed the shell away with a swift movement of his wrist. “That’s just because you’re thinking of work. Your first day off in a week and you already want to go back. You’re impossible.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No! That’s not it!” Keith giggled, chasing after a pretend-pouty Shiro, arms locking around his husband to make them fall back down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A few kisses and Shiro was more than willing to let that reference to the Blades of Marmora go. They had a whole beach to themselves anyway; he could think of better ways to pass the time than pretending to be angry at the beautiful man he had the honour to call "husband".</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Prompt 2: Sheith kissing in a room</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Was his head too tilted? His lips too dry? His heart too loud? A full orchestra played out of sync inside his ribcage, it was impossible that Shiro couldn’t hear it, from that close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When their lips met, it was a little like the whole universe had imploded inside Keith’s chest and was leaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Through his ears, nose, eyes, mouth</span>
  <span>― it was wet and messy and made it hard to breathe, to think, to exist even, in the parallel reality that was Shiro’s Garrison dorm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was nothing. Just the cold that hung onto the last remnants of a warmth that was never there. When Keith woke up, his eyes were wet, his cock hard, and his heart alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Through the window of the shack he had made a home of, he saw the stars, and could only hope, he could only fucking hope, that Shiro was out there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Safe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dreaming of Keith just as Keith was dreaming of him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Prompt 3: Age reversal Sheith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Takashi Shirogane first met Lieutenant Kogane in a lecture at his school.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked pretty pissed, as if he had been forced to be there, talking to acne-sprinkled fourteen-year-olds about the Galaxy Garrison. And as crossed as he seemed to be eye-rolling at dumb questions or blowing the fringe off his face out of boredom, there was an undeniable passion behind the eyes that made Shiro think that the only universe there was to explore was behind them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kogane was only the youngest pilot to ever lead a mission into space, despite some... alleged disciplinary issues. Shiro chuckled to himself at that; he was so brilliant at what he did, but still disrespected his seniors, did things his own way and crossed speed limits on the highway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bad boys</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why did Shiro have a knack for those?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt the blush on his cheeks when he was approached by Kogane to give a try at the simulator; he couldn’t help but feel a little special as if he had been held for last like the best of things. His colleagues hadn’t had much luck, but Shiro had practised for years, waiting for an opportunity like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had impressed Lieutenant Kogane. And if he thought the universe was in his eyes, then the smile Keith granted him was a supernova, the collision of stars and the breathtaking sight of what Shiro thought falling in love felt like.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Prompt 4: McHanzo, breaking routine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hanzo was all about order and discipline.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was ingrained in his nervous system to wake up at the exact same hour without the need for an alarm, to go jog around the block and returning only when the sun split the horizon, for an ice-cold shower and green tea before attending to the day’s duties. Having lunch at a planned time, take only necessary breaks, and regulate the schedule accordingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hanzo was all about getting up with a plan, and knowing exactly what to do. Having everything sorted out in his head in ranked priority made it easier to build the momentum to get him on track. Having a routine made him efficient. Productive. It created a grounding structure in a life that so desperately needed one. A coping mechanism? Perhaps. But it worked and that was enough for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But all it took was a sunkissed body lying next to him one morning to make Hanzo sleep in and forget his morning workout. It only took the smell of coffee and pancakes with a ton of syrup instead of a simple, unsweetened tea for breakfast, and bare feet and sweatpants all day instead of getting dressed for no reason. His routine became about pretending that every day was Sunday and that it was okay to binge-watch a TV show, to read more of that book that just one chapter a day, to leave the dusting and vacuuming to some other, undefined day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All it took was a kiss on his forehead, a hand resting on his lower back, a raspy “mornin’, pumpkin” to break Hanzo Shimada’s routine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jesse McCree was an unpredictable, messy, unsophisticated man. But for once, Hanzo was okay with a little disorder in his life.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Prompt 5: Sterek, adopting a pet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles knew, perhaps better than anyone, that when Derek said no, he meant a big fat <em> no, no </em>. Kinda like a very authoritarian bouncer at a club who could deny your entrance with a mortifying look alone, or a parent who wouldn’t let you have any more cookies before bed.</p><p> </p><p>So when Derek said “fuck no” that morning, Stiles should have left it at that. Taken the dog to the vet to check for any wounds or a chip and let the pros handle the rest since he wouldn’t be able to keep her.</p><p> </p><p>But to be fair, that morning, Stiles wasn’t as attached to the pup. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright, sweetie,” Stiles tugged on his jeans to crouch down over the puppy as if she would understand the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re gonna have to work with me here. I’m going to the store real quick, and you’re gonna have to be quiet the whole time. I won’t be long! Just getting you some food!”</p><p> </p><p>The stray dog rolled on her back, tongue sticking out. Of course, she just wanted pets, not to hear the masterplan.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you…” Stiles cooed with all his heart, scratching her belly contentedly. How he had fallen in love so fast, was beyond him. He thought he’d only have room for one dog in his life, but alas, there he was, stroking another dog’s fur. Maybe that was Derek’s problem; some territory thing, or whatever. Maybe having another canine around would threaten his stature as the big bad Alpha. As if this beautiful little girl could ever stand a chance against a werewolf. “Derek’s a big dum-dum, isn’t he? Yes, he is, he is!”</p><p> </p><p>It pained Stiles immensely to leave the newfound pup alone at their place. His face felt sticky from all the licks and kisses he had received, and he couldn’t wait to return for more. Derek shouldn’t be back until late at night —he always did that every now and then, the idiot, and forgot to warn Stiles as if he were just part of the furniture of their home— and until then, he would have to find a way to convince him that the best thing they could possibly do at the peak their relationship had reached was having a baby. Since that wasn’t doable, <em> thank the Lord </em>, it was time to have a pup!</p><p> </p><p>He was hoping the trip to the pet shop would help him come up with some ideas on how to tell that to his boyfriend, but he had instead spent most of the time trying to decide if the dog would like the pink collar or the blue one. Gender roles didn’t apply to cute ass pups, so he decided to buy the yellow one with paw prints. Also the food, a nice dual bowl and a squeaky toy!</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the way home was to come up with the most brilliant name for the girl.</p><p> </p><p>When he opened the front door of his house, he was saluted with the brick wall that was the body of his boyfriend, Derek’s head slowly turning to look at him.</p><p> </p><p>Ah, fuck.</p><p> </p><p>The living room pillows had been completely ravished by the small teeth of the puppy, puffs of cotton spread all across the carpet, puddles of what could possibly be piss, but he didn’t want to think about that yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah. Honey. You’re home.” Stiles leaned on the doorframe, stretching one of his widest smiles. Something in Derek’s eyes told him that the “smiling his way out of an argument” technique wouldn’t work this time around.</p><p> </p><p>“Why is the dog still here?” He simply asked, footsteps heavy as he paced across the room to reach behind the couch, pulling up the pup by the stretchy skin of the back of her neck. Stiles bit his lip, trying to figure out how to go about explaining that he had directly gone against something his boyfriend had told him to do.</p><p> </p><p>Well, it wasn’t like he was going to be bossed around by a werewolf, anyway, that was part of their agreement coming into a relationship, but one of the points that Stiles himself had included in that invisible, impalpable contract, was that big decisions were supposed to be made together. Having a pet was one of those big decisions.</p><p> </p><p>The power of Derek’s green eyes gleamed over Stiles, eyebrow tilting, urging him to start explaining and fast.  “I uh… I went to get some stuff for <em> Fetch </em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“... You named her <em> ‘Fetch’ </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty genius, right? So when we throw a stick or a toy, we get to say—” Derek’s eyes bore holes into Stiles’ very soul and he might have trembled at that, “Right. Right. <em> Sorry. </em> Uh. I just… It’s like… she came to me, you know? Out of every stray dog out there, out of everyone she could’ve peed on in that park, it was me! It’s like... she was meant to stay with us.” </p><p> </p><p>“Stiles, I told you I didn’t want any pets.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.” <em> Shit. </em>“You did. But… I thought… we could talk about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Fetch wiggled against Derek’s hold with a soft yelp that was barely a bark, and he was forced to change the hold on her, laying her on his forearm. It was an endearing sight, her tiny pink tongue leaving a trail of kisses over Derek’s hairy arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, see? She likes you already!” Stiles chuckled, flying across the room to grab the little animal by the ears, caressing her with gentle scratches behind her ears. “That’s how she likes it too, you know! Right behind her cute little floppy ears!”</p><p> </p><p>The silence reigned heavy between long pets and playful nibbles, the dog’s sharp tiny fangs barely scraping Stiles’ skin. Derek watched them attentively, gaze alternating between his arms and Stiles.</p><p> </p><p>“She does not sleep with us,” after what could’ve been a little portion of forever, Derek stated, firm as a rock. “And she has to learn to pee outside.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Really? Oh, fuck, really?” Stiles’ arms curled around his lover’s shoulders to smash as many kisses as he possibly could against that bearded jawline and cheekbone, mindful of the little creature between them, “You’re the best! I knew you’d like her, she’s a total sweetheart! I already have like, one hundred pictures on my camera roll—”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Prompt 6: Keith + tissues (or rather, the lack of them)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the darkness of his Garrison quarters, warm summer night, there was nothing but the weight of the sheets, the heat of his body and that name on the tip of his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shiro</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” because there was no one else like Shiro, no one else who could force Keith to wake up in the middle of the night with a helpless hard-on after one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> dreams. It was all broad shoulders and corner smile, the scent of his workout, the spiky wet hair after he’s out of the gym showers, the hand on his shoulder and the way he says his name whenever they meet in the hallways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who else but Takashi Shirogane to make a mess of him without even being there, Keith’s hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, his T-shirt pulled up and his underwear around his legs? The elastic band pressed on the flesh of his thighs and he could only imagine it was the force of Shiro’s large hands, holding him apart, and his mouth, oh his </span>
  <em>
    <span>mouth</span>
  </em>
  <span>— The things that tongue could undoubtedly do, and Keith could only dream of how it would feel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Keith gasped, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he stroked his cock harder, his whole body shaking as he squeezed the tip. The picture in his mind was clear as water; Keith knew exactly what he wanted to do to Shiro, and that was to treat him </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if Keith was shorter, younger, inexperienced, he still wanted to be inside Shiro. He wanted to give everything Shiro deserved, filling him up, being crushed by him, the sound of their skins simulated by the slapping of Keith’s forearm on his belly with each stroke. Sweet baby Jesus, Keith was going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the idea of Shiro sinking himself in his dick, riding him as he very damn well pleased. Shiro would smirk down at him, a chuckle just hanging from his beautiful lips only to come out as a gasp when Keith thrust upwards, and a “</span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re doing so good for me, Keith, that’s so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was going to come and he imagined himself begging Shiro to let him do it inside because he would love to fill him up, to leave a little bit of himself in him, so he would never ever forget him, and he could never decide if Shiro would let him since by then he was already coming, his one free hand groping blindly for a tissue on the bedside table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the high quieted down to soft pants and the noises of the night replaced the rapid beating of his heart, he wiped himself; it took a second until he realized that he did not have a tissue in his hand, but rather a single, lonely sock. He sighed, head lazily falling back onto the pillow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gross.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once morning rolled in, he would worry about that.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Prompt 7: Sheith + long distance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was only for a few months.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only” was putting it very lightly because their last kiss (which felt so much like the first but without all the nervousness attached) went on for so long, so deep, so full of a passion that would linger in the form of dormancy, that Shiro nearly missed his flight back home. It had been their first time meeting after years of online chatting and gaming and getting to know each other and fall in love so helplessly it had become near indispensable for them to be physically together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll miss you,” they promised to each other, faces wet with tears even though neither of them would address them, “in fact, I already do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only for a few months, and by then, they would work something out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro had never really considered leaving his home if not to go to outer space; travelling to America just to see someone… That had been a new urge for Shiro, whose interest had always laid in the stars. He had just spent the best days of his life with an amazing person, and as the plane took flight, as land gave way to the Pacific, he only wanted to go back to the Arizonian desert.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, Japan would feel a lot like a cage after staying with Keith for two whole weeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How was he supposed to go back to the final push of his post-grad with all the giddy sensations that were still bottled in his stomach, all the buzzing of their kisses, the taste of their touches, the memory of what it was like to hold the Universe in his arms all night? How was he supposed to live without him now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was left reminiscing about their relationship. How it had started with a harmless match up in an online fighting game. It had been one of the most equipared rounds Shiro had ever had, someone who could actually counter his attacks and fight back twice as hard. They added each other in the game and fought together, a tag team of terror for anyone who would be put up against them. After a series of victories together, they started chatting. Written words led to voice clips, and then voice calls. Then came the picture exchange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, by the first trade of selfies, Shiro was far gone into an endless whirlpool of pitiful, insane pining.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith Kogane had stolen a piece of the Universe to keep inside his eyes. Shiro was mesmerized by them, so enchanted by the multitudes of indigo and dark blue, of stars and comets and everything in between, that he had saved up for a whole year to show up at Keith’s doorstep on his birthday.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Uber from the airport to the outskirts of the desert had been the most expensive lift of Shiro’s life, but it had been worth it to be met by the man of his dreams, opening the door of his house and being met with someone he had only seen through bytes and pixels, utterly oblivious to the whole plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Happy birthday, baby. Surprise.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro closed his eyes and he could still feel the tightness of that first hug, crushing bones under Keith’s surprisingly strong arms, his gorgeous face squished against Shiro’s chest, his hair still wet, fresh out of the shower, as well as his cheeks for a different reason entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their first kiss had been the very next day, once Shiro was rested enough and over his jetlag to hit the arcades at a nearby mall. They had rounded all the available games, won most, lost few, and at the end of the machine route, was a single Gashapon machine from the past century.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got any quarters left?” Keith asked and when Shiro placed the coin in his open palm, he immediately inserted it in the machine. Instead of the two turns, Keith only completed one and proceeded to kick the side of the machine, two plastic eggs rolling out of it at once; by smashing the return button, Keith got the quarter back as well. “My Pop taught me that trick back in the day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Incredible,” Shiro chuckled, shaking his head and kinda praying the single arcade worker in the establishment wouldn’t see them doing that. “Which ones did we get?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith popped both eggs open; they were two adorable vintage phone straps of the same intergalactic collection, an astronaut and a cute little green alien, with huge glittery eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take the alien,” Shiro announced, stepping into Keith’s personal space and snatching the respective phone strap from Keith’s hand. He leaned in, a tilt of his head and landed a quick peck on Keith’s lips. “Reminds me of you, because you must be from outer space.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith was red for the rest of the day. The rest of the night. After dinner, Keith had been the one grabbing Shiro’s shirt to pull him into a second kiss; from then on, they both lost count. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the plane, about to land in Tokyo, Shiro toyed with the alien head hanging from his smartphone. The wallpaper was a photo they had taken in his boyfriend’s bed, Keith holding Shiro’s face by the chin and pressing a hard kiss to his cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only for a few months. By then, they would work something out.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Prompt 8: Jack Morrison, Pre-SEP (Soldier Enhancement Program)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Enrolling the army was something Jack Morrison always knew he’d be doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not out of any particularly fiery passion, not out of sensible duty. But the son of an MIA soldier, a boy made man with nothing to lose and no one left to mourn after him, was destined to perish the same cold way. A bullet to the head, a misplaced boot on top of a pressure bomb, a nameless grave or an easily missable mention in a memorial.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soldiers pretended to be made of anything harder than stone, with toughened features and furrowed brows, but in all their hardness, they were undeniably fragile. A bit like glass but without the sugar coating of a bulletproof layer. Like terracotta figurines lined up on a shelf for someone else to practice their aim with a .36 calibre.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack Morrison was never meant to be a hero and he never ambitioned for anything more than that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, not everyone thought the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They —three or four guys— came in the morning, far too early for any man to be wearing a suit that fancy in the middle of the desert camp. They were on the other side of the fence, watching, silently, and the soldiers were more than content to pretend no one was spectating the regular training circuits. There was nothing extraordinary to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, cross-country march with a fifty-pound rucksack. It was week five, the final day, maybe a Saturday (no one was really keeping track of that), and the class had significantly reduced since the recruits had first made it to camp. Much less than half of the original enlisted men and women remained, spirits either roaring with pride or too broken to react to anything else the Sargent could throw at them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack was somewhere in between a walking corpse and a kid too stubborn to give up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the middle of the run, one more tapped out. Jack wasn’t counting them, merely noticing through the corner of eyes focused and trained by practice and instinct to evaluate the right positioning of his foot on a slope.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s what mattered; getting through it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not the finish line, not the relief of throwing the rucksack to the arid sand, not the promise of a sip of the limited water supply. There was no reward to be collected, but the pathway to victory was the challenge he wanted to tackle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only he and a woman whose name he didn’t bother asking made it within the stipulated time limit. Very few more staggered in the minutes that followed, but it was no use. They were out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you can’t even go through this, how do you expect to protect your country? Hell, how do you expect to protect your own wives, your kids, your dogs?! Pack up, you losers, and go home! You’re through, here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The recruits knew better than to fight back so they bit their dusted pride and left, heads hanging low and calves twitching with the physical effort of continuously weighing on them. Although his own body equally complained, Jack didn’t envy them. Going home disgraced with failure seemed like little relief. Going home to no one seemed like a dread. Going home to the bottom of an empty glass seemed…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. Not again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Recruits!” Jack’s spine straightened automatically at the Sargent’s command, legs apart, chin high. The remaining soldier did the same with less than half a second of responsive delay. The Captain paced in front of them both, a short distance from one end to the other and back again, boots heavy, sweat beading on his forehead even though he hadn’t been the one doing all the workout. Standing in the heat with such thick fabric of the uniform couldn’t be easy either. “You two… have transcended expectations.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Their feet were burning inside those combat boots, and the metal of the dog tags reflected the sun right into their eyes. But neither would dare move. Not as much as a blink, a twitch, a held-in breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That means congratulations are in order. You have completed the first phase of the program. Now… you must understand that as times evolve, so must we. You have passed the physical test… Now it’s time for the mental test.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye, Jack noticed the men from before. The suits looked expensive, the sunglasses hiding whatever their eyes had to say since their mouths didn’t move from a straight line.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These gentlemen will take you to the next step in your military education.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They guided them to the jeep, and after hours, they weren’t headed anywhere in particular, as if they were trailing on a pretending map. No turns, no traffic, barely any bump. There was no road anymore, just... nothingness. Miles and miles of nothing to see, miles away from anything and anyone worth mentioning. Were they even in Arizona, still?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morrison… Where are they taking us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those were the last words he had ever heard from Cadet Rivera, and in the reflection of the rearview mirror, that was the last time Jack Morrison saw himself as something human.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Prompt 9: Inuyasha/Kagome, hair braiding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Inuyasha’s hair was beautiful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spread across her lap like a thick blanket, the strands of luxurious silver gradually turned pitch black as the moon failed its appearance in the night sky. Kagome ran her fingers through them, the straw under her legs prickling her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to readjust her position and risk disturbing the peace Inuyasha had found on her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kagome”</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’d whisper, head heavy as it flopped down on her shoulder, voice just above a purr, and she would know exactly what to do. Perhaps it was the remnants of someone else’s soul inside of her, but her hands untangled his hair, steadied his breath, calmed him into safety. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked so comfortable, tender in the daze of a half-sleep, so vulnerable. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The New moon always brought a wave of haziness to Inuyasha. He’d feel exhausted hours before the end of the day, his snappy comments reduced to a minimum until they were no more, and when they finally reached a temporary shelter —a barn, as it had turned out— he’d immediately laid down, seeking the relief of Kagome’s touch, her embrace, her scent, the mere feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It made Kagome wonder why.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That feels good. Keep doing it,” Inuyasha moaned, tilting his head when her nails gently scraped his scalp. She smiled at that; that tone did things to her, a tingle that ran up her spine and held her by the back of the neck and just made her think that she could repeat the same stroking motion of that beautiful hair the whole night until the black washed into white again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cradled him with the delicacy of a lover —</span>
  <em>
    <span>n-not that they were anything like that, no, Kagome had never had a boyfriend, let alone kissed anyone, let alone anything else</span>
  </em>
  <span>— her fingers coming to twist his hair, separate it into sections and braiding it as she did on sleepovers with her friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>InuYasha’s hair had the movement of silk, even if a little conditioner wouldn’t hurt those tips, but all things considered, his hair was pretty well taken care of. It needed a wash, after all those battles on top of dust, mud and forest grounds, but it was braiding pretty beautifully, cornrows forming on the side of his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She reached for some of the flowers of the bouquet Shippo had hastily put together for her earlier that day before they separated from the party, and had her fun sprinkling some of the white ones in the middle of the braids.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time she was done, InuYasha looked like a prince. Straight out of a fairytale, with the mightiness of a warrior and the soft heart of a boy with a face with too many edges and a sleep too peaceful to be disturbed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand delicately hovered his jaw, the caress near too soft to be felt; It crossed Kagome’s mind, just very faintly, cheeks reddening with the thought that it wasn’t just the hair that was beautiful.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Prompt 10: "Reluctantly, he handed over the key", Sheith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Reluctantly, he handed over the key. There was no turning back from the moment the metal met the open palm of the landlord. He would be officially, after years of living downtown, homeless. Albeit temporarily, and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have a place to stay in the meantime, but it still felt like giving away something that had been so important.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But for as long as he could, Shiro held onto the feeling of the key. It seemed lighter than he was used to, of course, it was just one single key and he had already removed the cute little keychain he had won, years ago, in a Gashapon machine. It was this odd little creature with glittery eyes, one that hadn't meant anything until the moment he had to remove it from his keys. That was when he realized the number of memories it held.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The little thing had been with him since he could remember, opening and locking doors, being lost on the floor of his car or being forgotten at the supermarket checkout. But no matter what, the keychain was some sort of a good luck charm, a guardian; making sure that Shiro would see the keys again, even if he was an airhead who tended to lose his keys every week.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But now, he had the keychain and no keys to be protected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be just him... and Keith. He was being rather overemotional, the keychain would probably be assigned to another set of keys, of a new apartment, a new home, a new life. He would turn it in the lock in the morning, and again in the night, and he would probably forget to lock the door whenever Keith greeted him with a kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not so reluctantly, he handed over the key. He wouldn't need it for his next adventure.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Prompt 11: Sheith, playing cards on one of their dates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After he was done shuffling the cards, Shiro spread them on the carpet, facing down, like a pool of paper. "Alright, now you pick a trump."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hm... Spades."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uhh. Edgy."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shut up, Hearts."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think that makes me 'hopeful'," Shiro teased, picking one card at a time from the pile between him and Keith until they'd run out of cards.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith chuckled to himself, combing a strand of hair behind his ear. "I call it 'helpless'."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro supposed that either of them was right in that regard, for he was both hopeful and helpless when it came to his hardcore crush on Keith. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was hard to hold up all the twenty-six cards in their hands, but they managed. The multicoloured faerie lights were the only source of illumination in Shiro's living room, a lazy type of lighting that was barely used otherwise. It was enough to set a calm, cosy atmosphere for Keith's first visit to his apartment. Dinner had been take-out, of course, Shiro couldn't cook to save his life, but Keith had assured him that he had enjoyed it and was having fun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was enough for Shiro to stop feeling like he was a complete failure at this dating thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You go first," Keith urged, flickering with one particular card he was meaning to play, a strategy in mind. It didn't phase Shiro whatsoever because he too had an ace up his sleeve to be used further in the game.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If you say so," Shiro placed a Two of Spades on the carpet between them. Keith's answer was a Four of Hearts. "Alright, it's your round. Ask away."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For each card of the other's chosen trump, they'd gain the chance to ask a question. Some sort of truth or dare, but with a deck of cards that had no use in Shiro's cabinet. It was an entertaining game for them to get to know each other since they were on their... what, seventh date? Shiro had never dated until the seventh before. If the first date gave him bad vibes, there was no room for a second, and if the vibes were good, the next date would be in a bedroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't like that had ever worked out in the long run for Takashi Shirogane. But with Keith, he really wanted to do things right. Slowly if it must be, but right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's..." Keith gave some thought to his question, "... the most embarrassing thing you've ever done?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's a tough one," Shiro laughed in advance. "only because there are a lot of embarrassing events in my life. I guess... one of the most recent ones, was when my ex proposed to me, last year. It was so awkward, he did it in public and I didn't want to embarrass him in front of the whole restaurant by pulling a flat out 'no', so I just... ran away."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Away where?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Space."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They laughed with their questions and answers, each card bringing out a revelation about the other that they'd treasure forever as a piece of information they had earned through hard work and game perseverance. The questions ranged from funny to personal, from serious to easy-going. But they were down to the last card, and it was time for Shiro to use his final trump. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An Ace of Spades was put over Keith's card, an Eight of Hearts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What else could you possibly want to know about me that was worth keeping that card the whole game?" Keith bit his lip, unravelling the sleeve of his pleaded shirt further. A nervous tick, Shiro observed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro himself was fairly nervous. It was an all or nothing question, but he felt like he would die if he didn't know the answer as soon as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why haven't you kissed me yet?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith audibly gasped at the question, face turning an unhealthy shade of red all the way to his ears. It made Shiro recoil a little as well; maybe that had been a cruel question. What an idiot, what if Keith thought he was rushing things? What if this was too much?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Did I... come on too strongly? I'm sorry, Keit—" Shiro choked on his own words when Keith hopped forward, connecting their lips in a hasty kiss, lips trembling, nervous hands holding Shiro's face in place in fear that he would dodge away from the contact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How could he ever? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Under the faerie lights, the galaxy within Keith's eyes had gained a few more stars and with Shiro's arms around him, pulling him close, they were a little like a supernova. An imminent collision that finally happened, tossing away all the anxiety and fear of it never happening.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Prompt 12: “He pulled up to the studio…”, post-break up Adashi, ~200 words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He pulled up to the studio apartment with the determination of someone who had forgotten the way to the front door. Each step Shiro took towards the entrance was a dread, something stuck in the bottom of his throat, finding a way to choke him through the muscle and tissue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What did he expect, showing up unannounced? The surprise element never did him much before, much less when it came to Adam.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro only hoped his ex wasn't home. That would make things a lot easier; pick up your bag, leave. There would be no time to look back to the place that had been kind of a home for the past four years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Home? No, there was no home with a man who didn't know how to love. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For every dinner they had eaten together, for the sheets they had shared, for all the bills they had split, four years only accumulated in frustrated screams that he hadn't had the chance to expel from his heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked in, pressed the elevator button to be taken to the last floor, and only prayed, or some form of wishful thinking, that Adam wasn't there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not today. To make leaving easier.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Prompt 13: "Tell me when you're ready," Sheith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith had never seen Shiro cry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not when he had badly injured his arm during training. Not when he was told going to Kerberos would be impossible because of his condition. Not when Adam broke up with him. Not even when Keith was a sobbing mess himself, holding onto his waist really tight just before Shiro would board the ship he would pilot all the way to Kerberos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, Keith had always supposed that was because he would rather suffer quietly. Shiro’s life had never been without suffering, but his constant smile was rather misleading for anyone who couldn’t or didn’t want to see past it. His solid jaw made for a fantastic poker face when the matter was serious, and his laughter was magical enough to make everyone believe that everything was just fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was one night —he supposed it was night, even though it was impossible to tell as they travelled throughout space— when he was pacing the hallways of the Castle of Lions, that he heard muffled sounds coming from Shiro’s quarters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t, he would be invading Shiro’s privacy; something he hadn’t had in so long. But Keith’s own heart twisted in concern, and it would gnaw at his chest until he’d press the access pad on the side of the door to make it slide open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room was dark, only the lights from the corridor partially illuminating the division. It was enough for Keith to spot the only movement in the room, a shivering form under the sheets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shiro—” he said before running to the side of the bed, his hand hesitating just short of pulling the blanket back. “Shiro… it’s me. Keith.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was certain that if it had been anyone else, Shiro would’ve dried his tears and flashed a smile. Maybe even lie and said he choked on his own drool while sleeping and play it off as some sort of joke. But because it was Keith, he allowed him to pull the blanket aside. Shiro allowed him to see how red his eyes were, beads of sweat on his forehead, how his lower lip trembled, how the shaved undercut had scratch marks created from his own painful despair to delete those memories from his head. He wasn’t less empathetic for hiding his emotions, or any less passionate about life. He merely had some averseness to showing weakness, and Keith was the last person who could blame him for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” Shiro’s lips read, barely a sound over the sob that followed the name, his arms clasping around Keith’s whole body, accepting that strong hug as if his life had been depending on it all along. He kept crying avidly, his chest heaving, fingernails clawing at Keith’s back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shiro… Shiro, it’s okay. I’m here,” he tranquilized him, the sobs muffled on his T-shirt, where after a while he could feel a little wetness, but didn’t mind it at all. “I’m here… I’m here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but Keith wasn’t counting and Shiro only ceased his tears when he fell asleep, head on Keith’s lap as he received tender caresses on his scalp. He looked so calm after it all… Keith could only imagine the thoughts that ran inside that thick skull, the nasty things he told himself, the lies about how strong he had to be, how weakness was not something a leader ought to show.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If only Shiro realised… If only they were to reverse their own roles and Shiro would learn anything from Keith, it would be that it was alright to be weak. It was okay to let go and be comfortable in the arms of someone else, in the warmth that engulfed two people and loosen whatever was hurting. Tears? Screams? Keith would take it all, if it meant to lessen the burden upon Shiro’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a hug. A caress. A kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, I would kiss you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Keith thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I would and I should, because I want to.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Tell me when you’re ready,” Keith whispered, the words lost between their silence, his fingers carding on the white forelock that gradually faded to shorter black strands, “Because I’ve been ready for you all my life.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Prompt 14: “The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others,”  Viraavos</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>“The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche</strong>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>There had to be inner motives; from the very start, it had been clear to Viren that Aaravos wasn't offering his services and aid out of kindness.</p><p>There was no kindness to be found on the other side of the mirror. Even when the Startouched Elf walked a little too close to the surface that separated their dimensions, even with the gesture that did a little more than just push the white strands of hair away from his face, the way their eyes met with a little bit of sparkle. </p><p>Even when he whispered in his ear, when he manipulated Viren’s dreams and told him about where it would feel good to touch, there was no way to believe that Aaravos was anything close to kind. </p><p>But Viren... He made the crucial mistake of blinding his heart to a truth that was hidden in plain sight. </p><p>He had always sought to do the best for Humanity. That had always been his main priority; no matter what, the "weak" would rule the lands and show that they're more than what the ancients beckoned for. That they're stronger than History books had made them before and that they're capable of taking over what was rightfully theirs. By any means necessary.</p><p>Aaravos had promised to help and made himself a means to Viren's end.</p><p>What Viren came to later find out was that he was Aaravos' beginning. Not even a means to an end, just a place to start. With the dagger lodged between his ribs, blood gurgling out of his mouth as the dark magic sucked the last of his vital energy in dry, hiccupy jolts.</p><p>He was dying by the hand of the only man he had come close to loving in such a proportion and the Elf's twisted smile clouded his vision as he approached. The nature of lies is to please and… all of him… all that time… had been pleasing. One way or another, that had been Aaravos’ intention.</p><p>"Thank you, Lord Viren. You've been... most helpful."</p><p>The kiss, muddy with blood, was the last thing Viren felt. Aaravos' final lie.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Prompt 15: Sheith, "domestic parents of a small animal trying to find said animal because it escaped from its cage"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shiro's terrified of spiders.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shiro’s worst nightmare had suddenly gained a very real, awfully palpable dimension.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been okay with Keith’s weird hobby —it would be fine so long as he kept the damn tarantulas in their own little enclosures in the room they had agreed would be used exclusively for exotic animal tending. But during an eventful rehousing of Keith’s Thailand Black, the little crawler had ventured away while he wasn’t looking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mean to tell me,” Shiro began, voice on the edge of cracking, “that there’s a five-inch spider loose in my house?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Yes. And we have to find her </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alright, it wasn’t the first time it had happened; in their three years of living together, Keith’s exotics had snuck away from their enclosures more than once, never straying too far, but it was the first time Keith was worried about it. And that made Shiro wary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You see, Thailand Black are…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good Lord, Keith, don’t say it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shiro begged in his head, but Keith’s words rolled out of his mouth unfiltered straight to Shiro’s ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... incredibly fast...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah. So they were chasing a thick black spider with incredible speed. He snorted, already feeling itchy all over his skin. Could it get any worse?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... and she’s one of the most aggressive…” Of course it could get exponentially worse, Shiro had been a fool to believe that the fleeing tarantula could be one of the docile species, like the one Keith had managed to put on his palm that one time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. Fuck, fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he couldn’t breathe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro, he wasn’t objectively scared of spiders. No, it was more of a Pavlovian reaction of immediate repulse, a skittish recoil. A revival of that one time seven-year-old Shiro was sleeping peacefully in the attic of his grandfather’s house and had woken up with the weight of a heavy spider butt on his face, webbing around his nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was a little scared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It also had to do with the fact that all tarantulas had a certain amount of venom in their fangs and while it wasn’t deadly to someone like Keith, the likelihood of the bite causing an allergic reaction on Shiro was pretty high since he did know he was allergic to a bee sting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shiro?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, let’s… Let’s just find her,” he hurried. The sooner they’d set out to search for it the better. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Prompt 16: Sheith, Dragon Age II AU (as FenHawke) — "Festis bei umo canavarum"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt for Navi! <i>"Festis bei umo canavarum"</i> = "You will be the death of me"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was never soon enough to step out of the City of Chains. A rather hollow thought, since Keith didn’t quite leave the surrounding area and would only do so temporarily, but the outskirts brought a different taste to the air already. Less stone and constricting bars, more dust and weeds. The salt on the Wounded Coast still burnt his eyelashes every time he’d blink, the rage of the sea crashing against immovable rocks in an attempt to either push back or drown the shore of the Free Marches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Kirkwall stood still, unavailing. If the tears cried by the slaves who passed by Kirkwall across the ages hadn’t drowned the city from within, then the sea —even with its crushing immensity— had no chance in hell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t noticed, but Keith wasn’t leading the way even though he had left the city first; he still had to get used to following rather than working alone, but it was a process made a lot easier when it was just him and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is brooding a sport in Tevinter?” Lance yakked, stepping between Keith and the leader of their party. “Do they hold competitions? Hand out trophies for the best scowls?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am not </span>
  <em>
    <span>brooding</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Keith spat back, unbothered by whatever the rogue thought of his resting face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Moping then. You seem like you’re a champion at it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am perfectly content at the moment,” he said, evenly. He would be much happier if he could shove Lance’s crossbow somewhere unpleasant to shut him up, but alas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sarcasm rolled out of Lance’s tongue like molasses. “Oh! So that’s you smiling! Glad you clarified that, I never woulda known!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lance, leave Keith alone,” Shiro’s voice was grounding and harsh, steps heavy and certain in the direction which they led the party of four towards. Shiro was always like that. Assertive and true, perfectionist and effective. Next to him, Allura’s wavy hair bounced elegantly, her muttered words barely audible at all, and ahead of them, the deserted Wounded Coast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or so they would’ve hoped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A small army lined up before them, balanced amount of staves, bows and swords in hand, battle stances and deadly eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hunters,” Keith spat, before reaching for his greatsword, an automated gesture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop! You are in possession of stolen property,” the mercenary leader spoke, amusement in his voice. The amount of sovereigns in that pocket for this little interception sickened Keith at the mere thought of it; what some had to spare, others had too little. The bitter words were directed at Shiro. “Step away from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>slave</span>
  </em>
  <span>… and you will be spared.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith’s rage fell through the cracks of the lyrium markings as he yelled, “I am </span>
  <b>not</b>
  <span> your slave!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro ignored the man with the nonchalance of someone who couldn’t care less and gestured the command to attack, even though he didn’t have to; Lance’s crossbow was already pointed up, and Allura’s daggers had already found their way in between the ribs of one of the hunters and Keith had sprinted to the nearest target. They fought until there was no flesh left uncut, until the hired men knew their place and until Keith could catch his fucking breath again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the battle, Shiro’s hand rested on Keith’s shoulder, briefly massaging it, squeezing it. Assuring him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re free now, you’re free, and never again will you be bound.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Let’s go back for the day. We’ll reach the cave tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lyrium glowed composedly from his skin, the darkness of the bedroom making Keith’s shame only more evident. But Shiro, he was never bothered by it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calling it odd would have been an understatement; but the first night they laid together and every night since, Shiro had followed the map of magic engraved in his skin with his mouth, tongue, lips. Made the marks of horror, inscriptions of the past, memories of pain and disgust feel a little less dreadful with kisses and nibbles, gentle patches that would make Keith believe, even just for a second, that he could be fixed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How he wished that second would extend for a little version of eternity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’ve caught up to me,” Keith murmured, voice muffled by the sheets where his head was half-buried. Shiro, who stood by the desk at the window, bent over his unanswered letters, looked over his shoulder. He developed further, “Macidus. He’s here, somewhere, within Kirkwall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith had shared his history with his lover. Maybe not in full disclosure, but the major part of it. The hurting percentage of it. There had been tears and a whole lot of wine, but mostly, Shiro’s arms around Keith’s trembling figure and the whispered mantra, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t let them get to you, I won’t let them hurt you, never, never again—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Shiro promised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith, he had heard that before, so he knew to believe it. Staring at the storm behind those grey eyes, he had no doubt that whatever stood in their way would be swept by the typhoon, drowned by the rain and burnt by the thunder. Shiro would stop at nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right back at Shiro, too. Should any try to make him fall, then Keith would see the end of them by the blade of his own sword, even if it meant his own end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith got up, legs still weak (from the battle or their endeavours, no one would say) and walked to his partner, arms wrapped against scarred skin, a soft kiss on Shiro’s shoulder blade.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Festis bei umo canavarum. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And I would have it no other way.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Prompt 17: Sheith — “He was excited to find 150 new emails in his inbox”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>New challenge: prompt written in *exactly* five minutes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was excited to find 150 new emails in his inbox; most of which were outdated Uber eats promotions, Steam sales, years-old Neopets updates and reminders to update passwords. None were from the person he was waiting for, and as days passed by painstakingly slowly, he kinda came to terms with the fact that Takashi Shirogane wouldn't get back to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who the hell gave an email address instead of a phone number, these days? Maybe he had gotten weirded out. Keith's phone had been broken for so long that he had transcended the need to buy a new one, but it was times like this that he wished he had had some insight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that meeting a nice stranger was something that happened often, quite the opposite in fact; as long as Keith could avoid human contact entirely, he'd consider himself happy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To be real, what the hell had happened? Why had he allowed a complete stranger to sit next to him when there were no other tables available? Why had he allowed himself, despite being naturally distrusting, to laugh at a remark the stranger had made? Why had he allowed the conversation to kick off from there and found that he had much more than a coffee shop choice in common with this man? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Worst of all, why had he given the man the power to completely crush him after they went their separate ways? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out of spite—Keith repeated that thought to himself over and over as some sort of grounding mechanism—he did go get himself a new phone. By then, a whole week had passed since his encounter with Takashi Shirogane, a name too engraved in his memory to let go of it just yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he was setting the smartphone up with his info, network connection and whatnot, his eye twitched a little at the request to input his email. He typed it fast, barely looking at the keyboard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>red-lion@alteatech.uni </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That email does not exist.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huh? He typed it again, mindful of any typo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That email does not exist. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy fucking quiznak. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>red_lion@alteatech.uni</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The email app then requested that he'd type the password, but Keith had since dropped his new phone, hand covering his own mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith had given Takashi Shirogane the wrong email.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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